


Lunar Phase

by CourtingInsanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Community: hp_creatures, Creature Fic, F/M, creature: werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingInsanity/pseuds/CourtingInsanity
Summary: A mystery werewolf has been causing havoc across England, leaving a devastating and bloody trail in his wake. When the number one suspect shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night, Hermione learns that things are rarely as they seem.





	Lunar Phase

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** 71  
>  **Creature:** Werewolf  
>  **Disclaimer:** This creation is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.  
>  **Notes:** Thank you to my alpha and beta, Mrs Ren and ravenclaw-sass respectively. To my prompter - thank you for coming up with something so amazing for me to write! I had so much fun!

**Wednesday, 7th April 2004**

Hermione Granger lounged in her arm chair, her eyes closed and one arm stretched across her chest so that her fingers could work the knot at her shoulder. It had been yet another gruelling day at the Ministry, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The Head of the Department, Nigel Whitehall, while nice enough to work for, was such a pushover when it came to policies and the desires of the higher-ups who, quite frankly, were far more concerned with their bottom lines than the welfare of non-human magical beings. 

Hermione sighed as she pressed the pad of her forefinger into the tense muscle connecting her shoulder and neck. In her role in the Division of Werewolf Support, she was active in locating werewolves, of both the magical and Muggle varieties. Most of her time was spent in the field, especially since…

She froze, her eyes opening wide. Someone was knocking on her door...but who would be calling at nearly ten o’clock at night?

Easing herself out of the chair, the insistent knocking sound came again. Hermione did not reply, but kept her eyes firmly on the white wooden panel that allowed entry to her small town house and grabbed her wand from where she had flung it on the coffee table. Tiptoeing towards the door, Hermione noted the knocking had ceased. She stopped two feet away from the door handle and strained her ears, but she could hear nothing unusual over the sound of the wind and light rain. 

Slowly, Hermione used her wand to unlock the door before muttering a spell which sent the piece of wood swinging inwards. It stopped before it connected with her hall table, revealing an empty porch. Tentatively stepping forwards, so that her toes curled over the threshold, Hermione stuck her head out into the cool night. Drops of rain peppered her face and wand arm as she held it straight out in front of her. 

“Hello?” she called. “Is anyone there?” 

Something akin to fear bubbled in Hermione’s chest. She wouldn’t describe it as pure terror; she was a reasonable person and a more than competent witch, but her work in the Ministry had definitely ruffled some feathers...or fur, rather. 

As she stood frozen, watching the empty night with bated breath, some of the tension began to ease from her stomach. Surely if someone intended to attack her, she would have been jumped by now. She lowered her wand arm and shrugged, wincing as the action sent shooting pain through her shoulder again. Turning back into the house with the intention of finding a pain potion, Hermione almost missed the rustling in the peony bushes to her right. 

Almost. 

With lightning reflexes, she was once again pointing her wand towards the street...only this time the tip had found a target. A very wet, bloody, shaking target. 

“Merlin!” Hermione clutched her free hand to her chest. “What the -? _Malfoy_?” 

He was badly beaten. Blood dripped from his forehead, across his left eye, tracking a red river over his cheek and down his chin. His clothes had been torn to shreds, and Hermione would have been embarrassed at the sight of all that muscle if it had not been covered in deep gashes and bruises in varying shades of purple. His grey eyes, once full of malignant intent and smokey promises of arrogance, were now dull and heavily lidded. 

“Please,” he rasped, one hand clutching his torn stomach and the other reaching tentatively towards her. “Please help me.”

With that, he fell to his knees, a crumpled heap at her feet. Hermione didn’t have time to think. Using her wand, she cast a quick levitation spell and carried the wounded man into her lounge room.

 

**Saturday, 10th April 2004**

Hermione had never taken a day off in her five-year career at the Ministry, and she was thankful that her absence over the last two days had not raised as many eyebrows as she had anticipated. 

She had cleaned Draco Malfoy up as best she could after she had levitated him into her living room. More than once she had thanked Merlin for magical cures and the ability to siphon the blood from her beige carpet. 

Since she had tended his wounds, Malfoy had not woken. Hermione had tucked him into bed in the spare room and checked on him regularly, but he did not stir. She knew that he should have woken by now, and the fact that he hadn’t was concerning to say the least. Returning to work on Monday was not optional, either, as there was only so much Hermione could say to Harry and Ron to keep them from turning up on her doorstep with soup and the terrible Muggle romance movies she liked to watch when she felt poorly. 

She had begun to talk to him late Friday evening, feeling a little silly, but not as awkward as she had when she simply sat and stared at him in silence. Finally dragging herself to bed around midnight, she immediately fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

It was three in the morning when she was woken by a horrible rasping noise. Sitting straight up in bed, Hermione was alert, staring wide-eyed into the darkness, her wand already clutched in her right hand. 

“Hello?” Hermione’s heart leapt at the faint, croaky whisper as it floated down the hallway. Silently, she slipped out of bed and padded towards the voice, not bothering to throw on her dressing gown in her excitement. 

When she entered the spare bedroom, she found her charge sitting bolt upright, his fists clenched around the thick blue duvet, holding it against his chest. His blond hair was sticking up at all angles and his face was the most unschooled she had ever seen it; his eyes were wide with uncertainty, and his mouth was open slightly as he breathed in shallow bursts. 

He jumped as she entered the room, her wand stuck in the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, her palms held out towards him in a peace offering. He squinted as she slowly approached his bedside. 

“Granger?” His voice cracked on the last syllable. “Is that you?” 

“Hey, Malfoy,” she said, her voice soft and neutral. If she was being honest, she was unsure what to expect from her ex-classmate since they didn’t exactly have a positive history. “How are you feeling?”

He did not reply, tilting his head to the side as if it allowed him to appraise her better. The duvet slowly slipped from his grip as he seemed to accept his surroundings, and his shoulders slumped from their tense position around his ears. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Hermione asked, coming to a stop as the front of her thighs brushed the side of the bed. When he nodded, she conjuried a tall glass of water. “Here,” she said.

He mouthed ‘thank you’, his voice seemingly having met its short limit. Hermione noted the loss of voice for later reflection and moved to fuss over his blankets. 

A choke from above her stilled her movements. 

“What are you doing?” He coughed, placing the glass heavily onto the bedside table, causing water to slosh over the side. 

“I’m checking your wounds.” Hermione huffed, pulling back and placing her hands on her hips. “Or would you rather I let you die of some hideous infection?” 

He shook his head, a look of bewilderment on his face, and Hermione arched an eyebrow as if to say _didn’t think so._ Pulling back the duvet to his waist, Hermione fought to keep the heat out of her cheeks. She was good at playing the strict Healer, but as her fingers flitted over the taut muscle of Malfoy’s abdomen, she couldn’t help when they began to shake; she’d never worked on anyone as fit, or...well, Malfoy-ish. 

“I’m fine,” he rasped, rolling his eyes. Hermione glanced up at him, but continued to prod her fingers into his flesh, moving in circular movements up to his chest. “Unless, -” he arched a seductive eyebrow “- you’d like to -”

“Oh!” Hermione sprang back, her face scrunched up in disgust. “Don’t be absurd!” Malfoy smirked, noting the faint blush as it crept up her neck and stained the tips of her cheeks. “If you’d rather rot from the inside out due to venom poisoning, be my guest.” 

He chuckled, though the sound was stretched thin. “It’s nothing that will kill me, I can assure you.” 

“Do you remember what did that to you?” Hermione tried to sound intrigued, but from the twist of Malfoy’s mouth, she could tell he wasn’t buying her ignorant act. 

“A werewolf.” He shrugged. “But you knew that.” 

“Did I?” Hermione stepped back until her spine was pressed against the wall. She was suddenly feeling vulnerable; Malfoy seemed to know more about her life than perhaps she had stopped to consider. 

“Well, I’d assume -” Malfoy settled back against the pillows, pulling the duvet back up to his chin “- that an officer for the division of Werewolf Support Services would know about the camps they’ve set up for all werewolves. And I’d also assume -” he tilted his head to the right, his gaze locking on to hers and holding it as if she were the most interesting thing he had ever laid eyes on “- that you’d know it’s because of a particular lycanthrope who can’t seem to keep his teeth inside his head.” Here, Hermione noted that despite the almost non-existence of his voice as he finished talking, his words were laced with unbridled fury. 

“You’re right.” She licked her lips and took a tentative step forward. “I happen to know a lot about that particular Ministry initiative. And -” she raised her eyebrows and steeled her gaze, affixing him with a hard glare “- I would hope, given your thorough research, that you’d know that I am also one of the strongest opposers of the Camps.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “I didn’t collapse on your doorstep at random.” 

“You didn’t?” Hermione blinked, her heart beginning to race again. “Why my doorstep, then?”

“Well -” he winced as he shifted and Hermione instinctively moved to the bedside, reaching for the blankets, but one hard look from Malfoy had her frozen in place again. “- I knew that you could heal basic wounds, and I also knew you couldn’t say no to a charity case.” 

“Ouch,” she deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest. 

He shot her a look that told her he didn’t mean to offend, and she rolled her eyes in response. “So you’re a werewolf.” It was a statement, not a question, but Malfoy didn’t flinch. 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Greyback was punishment at the end of my sixth year.”

Hermione’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, but she managed to catch the gasp in her throat; she had wondered, after all. 

“And you want my help?” He nodded. “Okay.” She paused. “Well, I think we should probably get some sleep, though -” she frowned as he winced again “- I’ll get you some pain potion first...we can discuss things further in the morning.” 

 

**Sunday, 11th April 2004**

The first thing Hermione was aware of the next morning was the ache running down the left side of her neck. She shifted, wincing, as her eyes fluttered open, only to widen forcefully as the flash of platinum blonde came into view. 

_Malfoy._

He was sitting against the headboard, watching her with a guarded expression. He tilted his head to the side but did not greet her as she regulated her breathing. Hermione readjusted her position, straightening her back and fighting the urge to rub at the tightness as it bled from her neck and into her shoulder. 

“You can stop staring at me,” she finally said through gritted teeth. 

“I figured it was only fair for me to watch you sleep, as you took it upon yourself to be the creep last night.”

“I wasn’t being creepy,” she shot back. “I was making sure you didn’t slip into another coma, or die from a venomous _bite_.” 

The emphasis on her last word shifted Malfoy’s stoic mask. His eyes flashed for the briefest of seconds, and the high points of his cheeks flushed a pale pink. 

“So quick to get to the point, Granger,” he observed, his expression once again blank. “I haven’t eaten in days and you mean to deny me breakfast before forcing me to answer what I’m sure is a notepad full of questions?” 

Hermione bit down on the inside of her cheek. She made a mental note to burn the notepad she had in fact filled with her thoughts during Malfoy’s comatose state. 

“No,” she lied, folding her arms across her chest. “I’ll make breakfast once I’m sure you’re not here to attack me.”

He chuckled at that, his gaze dropping briefly to the duvet before meeting hers once more. “Seriously? You think I want to attack you? Granger, -” he leaned forward slightly “- if I had wanted to attack you, you’d be dead by now.”

“Oh, yes.” Hermione scoffed. “A werewolf in human form, beaten to within an inch of his life is such a terrifying thought.” She rolled her eyes and mirrored his posture, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. She arched an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?” 

“I told you last night.” He arched an eyebrow right back. “I need your help.”

“With what exactly?”

He shrugged. “How about we start with breakfast?” His grin was almost feral, the way it stretched his face, but the sparkle in his grey eyes told Hermione that there was nothing more than good natured mischief underlying his request. 

“Fine,” she huffed, getting to her feet. “But I’m serving it in the kitchen, and I’m not carrying you there.” With that she turned on her heel and disappeared down the hallway without a backwards glance. 

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was pouring pancake batter into a sizzling fry pan. A noise from the hall caught her attention, and she raised her head to meet the gaze of her charge. He was standing in his boxer shorts, the scars she had spent the last three days healing shiny and stark against his pale skin.

“You know, most people would have the decency to at least put a shirt on.” Hermione indicated his bare chest with the wooden spoon she was holding. 

He smirked as he took a seat at the breakfast bar across from her. “I would have, if I could find my clothes.”

“I washed them,” Hermione stated plainly, ignoring the way his muscles rippled as he sat, “and I mended them; I figured the recently-beaten-to-within-an-inch-of-my-life look went out of style a few months ago.” 

He inclined his head briefly in a gesture of thanks as Hermione pushed a plate of pancakes towards him. Using her wand, she summoned butter, syrup, and sugar, as well as some sliced strawberries and whipped cream, settling the condiments between them. His eyes widened at the sight of all the food, but Malfoy said nothing as he began piling a bit of everything on his stack. 

Hermione swallowed a giggle as she watched him before forcing her gaze to her own breakfast. 

“So,” she said as he swallowed the first mouthful, “what do you need my help with?” 

He sighed, stabbing another piece of pancake with his fork. “It seems I am being blamed for the attacks.”

Hermione choked on the mouthful she had been preparing to swallow. “What?” she gasped, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. 

“Yeah.” Malfoy chuckled darkly. “The Ministry seem to think I’m the out-of-control werewolf.” 

There was a pause in which Hermione struggled to regain control of her breathing; she succeeded after a long drink of water, and as soon as she was able to form words without fear of a coughing fit, she said, “Well, are you?” 

Malfoy fixed her with a pointed glare, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. “Yes, Granger,” he drawled, lowering his hand. “I am the Big Bad Wolf, and I’m here to ask you if you’d like to play Little Red Riding Hood.” 

“You know Muggle fairy tales?” 

“Not the point,” he huffed. 

“I’m sorry.” Hermione shook her head. “You just surprised me. Why does the Ministry suspect _you_?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” His voice was barely above a whisper and Hermione had to lean forward to hear him. “They need a scapegoat; I’m the only werewolf in England to have voluntarily registered in the last century, and I’m Lucius Malfoy’s son.” 

“I’ve heard no whisper of your name in the office,” Hermione countered, her eyes narrowed. 

“Why would you? As I understand it, your division don’t exactly mix with the Registrars or the Capturers.” 

Hermione bit her lip; he had her there. “I’m working on eradicating the camps, they know that. Why wouldn’t they tell me they had a lead? It would only support their case, and give them grounds to ask me to stop.” 

“Why would they need to? You’re not exactly close to achieving your goal. No offence.” He added the last bit as an afterthought, noting the thunderous look on Hermione’s face. 

She continued to glare at him, enjoying the way he was squirming slightly beneath her gaze as she weighed up her options. He was, unfortunately, correct about her work at the Ministry. She was the only liaison in the Werewolf Support Services division, a farce of a position which held no traction or purpose in the promotion of werewolf welfare. She had accepted the role believing she could do some good in the world, but when an mysterious werewolf started making himself known through a trail of brutal murders, her job had become little more than a plaque across a door. 

Most of the time she created her own work, as with the report she hoped would lead to the abolishment of the Camps. The Camps, which had been set up two years ago, were primitive settlements located in remote parts of Britain, heavily guarded by Ministry Officials from the Beast Division in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They were not known for being gentle or understanding of werewolves, and though she had never visited a Camp, Hermione knew they were hellish and unfit for humans - even ones who turned into dangerous animals once a month. 

“None taken,” she answered finally, dabbing at her mouth primly with a napkin. “Against my better judgment, I don’t think I really have a choice but to help you; refusing it would fly in the face of everything I have done so far to help werewolves.” 

A genuine smile, albeit weak and slightly shaky, spread across Malfoy’s face. “Thank you,” he rasped. “I really appreciate it.” 

“But that doesn’t mean you can go taking advantage of my hospitality,” she said sternly, though the tightness around her eyes had softened considerably. “You are not to leave this house, and you are not to tell anyone you are here. If you need to contact anyone other than me, you must tell me. I don’t have any more spare rooms, as much as I’d like to get all the werewolves out of those damn Camps.” 

He nodded his head in understanding, chewing his mouthful thoughtfully. “How will I contact you if I need to?” Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “While you’re at work, I mean,” he clarified. “I assume you wouldn’t appreciate me Apparating into your office and bleeding out onto the carpet…” He chuckled, but the sound was dry and humourless as Hermione continued to stare at him as if he had grown a second head. 

“I’ll figure something out,” she replied. 

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. Hermione mulled over the communication issue, warring with herself over whether or not she _wanted_ Malfoy to have access to her at all hours, clouded by a general feeling of being overwhelmed by the whole situation. 

Finally, many hours after she had retired to bed, Hermione decided create a new Dumbledore’s Army coin for Malfoy. He couldn’t do anything other than alert her to an issue, which meant she wouldn’t be inundated with petty requests from the blond, and it was easy to pass off as a common Galleon should anyone come snooping. 

Accepting that sleep was eluding her, she spent the next few hours copying the coin, whispering incantations into the dark and hoping the light show they produced wouldn’t wake her neighbours. When she was done, Hermione left it on the kitchen counter with a note which read:

_Malfoy,_

_If you need me, touch this coin. ONLY if you ABSOLUTELY need me._

_H.G._

Unsure of whether she could actually trust him with such temptation, Hermione returned to bed somewhat reluctantly, and fell into a fitful sleep, peppered with dreams of morphing Galleons and cold grey eyes.

**Friday, 16th April 2004**

In the days that followed Malfoy’s awakening they established a sort-of routine. Hermione would get up, tend to his wounds, feed him breakfast and then head off to work as if it was any other day. She would come home, tend to his wounds once again, cook dinner, and they would share the meal in his bedroom talking about the legislation surrounding werewolves and her day at work. So far, he had not abused his coin privilege, for which Hermione was grateful. 

She had run in to Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry a few times; he seemed to be hovering around the Beast Division. When she brought it up to Malfoy, she was surprised that he only scoffed, having assumed that he would be upset at the news. He told her that his father had effectively disowned him as soon as he was bitten, though he suspected Lucius’ mental health had suffered greatly at the hands of the Dark Lord, and it was this psychosis that had led him to abandoning his only child, rather than an inherently evil spirit. Hermione chose to accept this without mentioning that Lucius seemed sane...well, as sane as one with his history could be.

* * *

By the time she arrived home on the Friday, Hermione found herself looking forward to another evening with Malfoy and getting to know him. This thought unsettled her as she unlocked her front door, but it dissolved as she crossed the threshold and was engulfed by the enticing smell of warm spices emanating from her kitchen. 

“Malfoy?” she called, shucking her coat and hanging it on the hanger as she kicked the door shut behind her. “Hello?” 

He appeared in the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, wiping his hand on a checkered dishcloth. “Hello.” He smiled. “How was work?” 

His voice had mended over the past week, and though it was still rough around the edges, his usual arrogant lilt was back. Hermione couldn’t help but smile back as she removed her shoes and pushed them against the wall. 

“Fine.” She moved past him and entered the kitchen. “It smells amazing in here.” She peered into the pots on the stove and sniffed appreciatively. “What are you cooking?” 

“Nothing fancy.” He shrugged, stalking towards her. “Just a beef stroganoff and some pasta.” 

“Yum!” She grinned as she turned back to look at him. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a cook, Malfoy.” 

He smirked but did not respond, reaching around her to grasp the wooden spoon currently sticking out of the pot and stirring the contents with practiced finesse. Hermione ducked out from under his arm and moved to collect two glasses and a bottle of red wine from the cupboard. He accepted his with a murmured thank you, still focused on his cooking. 

Hermione watched him work, sipping her wine, until he lay the spoon gently against the side of the pot and turned to face her once again. 

“So your day was fine, huh?” He arched an eyebrow, bringing the wine to his lips. “That’s code for ‘it was horrible’. What happened?” 

Hermione sighed but offered him a begrudging smile; she wasn’t used to being so easily read, but Malfoy seemed unusually perceptive. “Much of the same, really,” she answered, a bite in her tone. “The Capturers won’t even agree to a meeting to go over my proposal.”

“Your proposal?”

“To abolish the camps. Research shows that they have no positive effect on the reduction of werewolf attacks, and in fact -”

“Granger.” He held up a hand, cutting short what was sure to be a passionate rant. “I know.” There was no malice or impatience in his voice, despite hearing this exact rant from the brunette witch almost daily over the past week and a half, and Hermione released a long sigh. “So what are you going to do about it?” 

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, resting the glass of wine against her bottom lip without taking a sip. “I’ll speak to Kingsley on Monday. He was the one who reopened the division of Werewolf Support Services and I doubt that he envisioned it being completely overshadowed by the Capturers and the Registrars.” 

Malfoy made a noise of dissent through his nose, placing his glass down next to the stove. 

“Have you...have you seen the...the camps?” Hermione knew she was crossing into dangerous territory with Malfoy by asking these kinds of questions, but he was a guest in her house and she was curious. She watched with bated breath as he stiffened against the counter, staring into the pot of stew.

“Yes,” he said after a pause. “I passed one on my way here.” 

“I’ve never been to one,” Hermione admitted in a whisper. 

“Count yourself lucky.”

Hermione sensed that she should stop trying to indulge her curiosity. His broad shoulders were held stiff and stretched, and his spine was ramrod straight. Malfoy was no longer looking at the dinner bubbling away in front of him, but straight ahead, as if the plain white tiles held the most fascinating pattern. 

She knew it would not be prudent to continue prying, so she wrapped her lips around her glass once more and swallowed several mouthfuls of wine. As she was lowering the glass, Malfoy suddenly turned to her, a feral glint in his eyes. 

“They’re filthy,” he stated, prowling towards her. “They have walls fifty feet high, enchanted and bewitched so that if you so much as _touch_ the brickwork, you’ll be propelled backwards into the opposing wall. If that doesn’t break your bones, a Guard will do it for you.” 

He was close enough so that Hermione could count his eyelashes now, and she placed her glass beside her, unsure of what to expect. The wine sloshed over the side and spilled across her fingers. Instinctively, she raised her hand to her lips and licked the liquid from her digits. A low growl resonated from Malfoy’s chest and Hermione realised too late that his gaze had settled on her mouth. 

“Malfoy?” she breathed, her heart beating a quick rhythm against her rib cage. “What are you -?” 

His hands settled, palm down and fingers splayed, either side of her on the counter. His breath was leaving him in ragged puffs which danced across her face. Hermione felt her eyes flutter shut, despite the small protests in the far back of her mind. 

She thought she felt his finger tips graze her cheek, but then there was a loud rapping at her front door, and Malfoy leapt away from her as if she had slapped him. Her eyes snapped open and she jumped clumsily from the bench. 

“Wait here,” she murmured, placing one hand on her forehead as if the pressure from her palm could ease the dizzy sensation caused by being so close to Malfoy. 

He watched her, his cool grey eyes catching every movement as she walked towards the front door. As she grasped the handle in her left hand, Hermione turned and gestured for him to stay out of sight. With a roll of his eyes, he turned back to the stove.

When he was appropriately hidden, Hermione called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Harry!” came a voice from the other side. 

“And Ron!” 

“Oh,” Hermione stammered. “Um, I’m actually in the middle of…”

“Of what? You’re not working on a Friday night, surely!” Weasley boomed. 

“Well, actually -”

“Come on, Hermione,” Potter wheedled. “Let us in, we brought wine!”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione shook her head. “I’m...um -”

“Oh Merlin!” Ron’s voice boomed over the top of her stammering. “You’re not exploding from both ends like that time you took me to the Muggle fair and ate that weird looking sausage, are you?”

Hermione gasped, her cheeks burning so fiercely she wondered if she might spontaneously combust. A choking sound had her whirling towards the kitchen, her palms pressed against either side of her face in a desperate attempt to cool down. 

Malfoy was leaning against the archway, the wooden spoon still clutched in his hand. His free arm was pressed against his middle as he fought the urge to double over, his shoulders shaking with the force of repressed laughter. His eyes were brimming with tears from the exertion of it all and Hermione realised in that horrible, awkward moment, that she would not have cared about Ron bringing up the worst case of food poisoning she had ever experienced in her life, if it had not been in front of Malfoy. 

_Oh shit,_ she thought. _I care what Draco Malfoy thinks of me_. 

She wanted to bite back with some clever retort, but her body and brain seemed to have bought into the _freeze_ option, rather than fight or flight. She could do little else than stand and stare hopelessly at her blond house guest, who was now leaning so heavily against the wall she feared he may slide down it. 

As she stared, she watched Malfoy’s eyes register an emotion other than mirth - though what it was she could not say - and he finally straightened, smoothing one hand over the front of his apron. 

He did not break eye contact with her as he opened his mouth and called across the room in the deepest, most gravelly voice he could manage, “She’s got company!” 

Hermione groaned and staggered backwards, her back flattening against the front door, her cheeks now burning so hot they felt icy. There was silence on the other side of the door and she internally warred with herself as she tried to decide whether to confirm or deny what Malfoy had just said. 

“Oh,” Harry finally said, his voice strangled. “Sorry, Hermione. We’ll - we’ll leave you to it!” 

Hermione released a slow breath as their footsteps shuffled away from her porch. When she was sure they had disappeared, she allowed her shoulders to slump back down to their usual resting spot and opened her eyes. 

Stomping towards the kitchen, she prepared herself to launch into a rant the likes of which Malfoy had never seen, but she found him standing nonchalantly beside her dining room table, two plates filled with the delicious stew, and a third filled with freshly baked bread. 

Her jaw dropped as she took in the scene. Malfoy unwrapped the apron from his front and folded it neatly before placing it on the counter. “Dinner is served,” he murmured. 

Hermione snapped her jaw shut and settled for glaring at the smirking blond. “I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

“I usually am,” Malfoy replied, his eyebrows raised, feigning ignorance. 

“Did you have to?” Hermione folded herself into the chair opposite and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going to have to explain that -” she nodded towards the front door “- to Harry and Ron.” 

He shrugged. “So? Is it that impossible to believe that you might be entertaining a male guest?” 

“No!” she answered quickly. “But I’d rather not have to explain _who_ ; they know practically everyone!”

“So say it was an old acquaintance who was passing through from out of town.” He speared a piece of beef with his fork, a grin on his face. “It’s not technically a lie.” 

Hermione made a noise of annoyance through her nose, but unclenched her arms and began to move her food around the plate with her fork. She rather thought she might like to stab Malfoy with it, and was about to articulate this when he spoke.

“Back to our conversation before we were interrupted,” he said. Hermione stiffened; was he going to mention the almost-kiss? “Your day at work.” 

“What about it?” Hermione chewed a mouthful and wondered if she was disappointed or relieved that he hadn’t mentioned what had _almost_ happened. 

“Elaborate on the rejection of your proposal.”

She winced at his words and used the excuse of needing a sip of wine to stall him. “I saw your father,” she finally admitted instead. 

“My father?” Malfoy didn’t miss a beat, though Hermione noticed his eyes had tightened considerably at the mention of Lucius. 

“Yes. He seems to be in the thick of the hunt for you.” She hesitated before continuing, placing her cutlery primly either side of her plate. “You said that he’s a bit mad...he doesn’t seem that way at work.”

“Oh?” Malfoy set down his cutlery in much the same way Hermione had and reached for his wine glass. “How so?” He fixed her with a blank stare, but from the way his grey orbs swirled with icy contempt, Hermione wished she hadn’t added the last bit. 

“He-he seems quite determined to catch the wolf responsible…” Hermione said slowly. “But he hasn’t mentioned your name at all.”

Draco snorted indelicately. “Of course not,” he spat. “Above all else, Lucius prizes the continuation of the Malfoy line.” 

Hermione waited, but he added nothing more. She continued to watch him as he stared back at her, his eyes glazed and unfocused. They stayed frozen like that for several minutes, Hermione hardly daring to breath as his chest rose and fell rhythmically with deep, calming breaths. Suddenly, he scraped his chair backwards and stood from the table, causing Hermione to jump in surprise. 

“Thank you for the conversation,” he said politely, though there was a definite note of anger underlying his tone. “I hope you’ll excuse me; I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”

With that, he took his plate and wine glass into the kitchen. Hermione watched him silently, unsure of whether she should call him back and apologise or not, as he scraped the leftovers into the compost bin and then refilled his glass before stalking from the room with it clutched in his hand. 

_Well,_ she thought to herself, _that was a disaster._

 

**Tuesday, 20th April 2004**

Since ‘the dinner incident’, Malfoy had been avoiding Hermione like the plague. She felt dazed, as if she had suffered whiplash in a motor vehicle accident; one minute he had been poised to kiss her and the next he had stormed from the room, dripping with angst. She could not get a read on him and she was exhausted. 

Things were not improving at the Ministry, and Lucius Malfoy had taken over the hunt for the werewolf. He had announced to Hermione and the rest of the Being Division that they were to cease any recovery orders and would be banned from all future hunts. Hermione did not mind that she would not be forced to take a wand to a werewolf, but she was annoyed that she was once again being asked to sit idly by while the Beast Division acted as though they were dealing with a animal who had no human rights. 

That news had not bode well with Malfoy. Though they had tentatively continued with their usual routine, Hermione was unsure how to broach the subject. He had taken it surprisingly well, though he had not responded when she finished her story, only nodding his head and making a small sound of incredulity. Then he had returned to his silence, which Hermione was beginning to find grated on her nerves more than if he had been constantly bickering with her. 

They were suffering through yet another silent evening, Malfoy stretched along her three seater and Hermione curled in an armchair when she finally snapped.

“You need Wolfsbane,” she said, more bite in her voice than she had intended. 

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Why?” 

“Because the full moon is coming up?” Hermione squinted over the top of her book, as if he was an invalid. 

He huffed. “I’m aware of that, Granger. What I meant to ask is, why will I _need_ it when I won’t be anywhere near humans during my next transformation?” 

“Do you not count me as human?” 

Malfoy stilled and fixed her with a wary gaze. “Excuse me?” 

“You don’t expect me to just turn you out onto the street in a fortnight, surely?” 

“Actually yes, that’s exactly what I expected,” he said flatly. 

“You’re an idiot.” She sighed, snapping her book shut and glaring at him. “Of course you’ll stay here through the transition; it’s too dangerous out there.” She pointed towards the front door. 

“Is it?” he deadpanned. “And here I was thinking that it was dangerous to house a werewolf in suburbia during the full moon. Silly me.” 

“You can argue all you like.” She sniffed and stood from the armchair, looming over him. “But you will stay here and I will get you some Wolfsbane.”

“You’ll have to go to Knockturn Alley for that,” Malfoy countered, standing to face her properly, though now he was looking down at her. “I won’t allow it.”

“You’re not my keeper.” Hermione snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Nor are you mine.”

They stood like that, staring at each other in a silent Mexican standoff, until Malfoy rolled his eyes with an exaggerated exhale, slumping back into his chair. 

Without a word, Hermione left the room, knowing that it was settled; tomorrow she would journey to Knockturn Alley and purchase the potion for Malfoy. 

 

**Wednesday, 21st April 2004**

As promised, Hermione left the next evening to purchase Wolfsbane for Malfoy. He hadn’t tried to stop her, but she had caught his disapproving glare as she donned her cloak and slipped out of the front door. Trying to shake the annoyance that had curled about her shoulders, Hermione Apparated from the point near her flat, and soon found herself standing in the dingy Knockturn Alley. 

It had not changed much since she had visited last, during the summer before her sixth year at Hogwarts. A shiver ran up her spine as she quickly moved past Borgin and Burkes, suddenly reminded that during that adventure, she had been spying on the very person she was now trying to help.

“Are you lost?” a cold voice came from the doorway of a small shop Hermione had not noticed in her hurry towards the apothecary. She whirled to face the speaker and was unable to keep the shock from her features as Lucius Malfoy stepped towards her. 

“Mister Malfoy!” she all but gasped, her hand subconsciously clutching her cloak closed at her throat. “What are you doing here?” 

She regretted the question immediately as he took another step forward, his slick blond hair shining in the dusk light. He smirked, a sardonic expression which left his eyes empty and cold. 

“I could ask you the same question, Miss Granger.” He drew out the pronunciation of her name, his gaze piercing. 

Hermione shivered. “Research,” she answered cryptically, pressing her lips together to prevent them from twitching. 

“I see.” He canted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he appraised her. “Anything I can help you with?” 

“No, thank you.” Hermione smiled tightly and inclined her head. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

With that, she left him staring after her in the middle of the near-deserted street. She could feel his eyes on her as she hurried away. A shiver threatened at the base of her spine but she shrugged it off and forced herself not to turn around. 

By the time she had reached the Apothecary at the end of the alley way, Hermione was feeling wrung out and was keen to get the potion and return immediately home. The bell tinkled as she entered the shop and she instantly placed her cloak across her nose and mouth as the stench of rotting seafood entered her nostrils. 

“Hello?” she called, her voice muffled behind the thick black fabric. 

Movement sounded from behind the counter at the back of the shop and Hermione made her way slowly towards it, taking care to keep the cloak over her face and only breathing in shallow bursts through her mouth. 

“Can I help you?” A small witch with a nose Hermione was sure she could hang a coat on appeared behind the thin wooden desk. 

“I need Wolfsbane,” Hermione answered. “I sent an owl…”

“Ah, yes,” she said, but did not move to retrieve the potion. Instead, she fixed Hermione with a vacant stare, her pale eyes glazed over. 

“If you don’t mind,” Hermione muttered, “I’m in somewhat of a hurry.” 

“What did you need?” she said, a frown etched into her crepe-paper skin.

“Wolfsbane,” Hermione enunciated, frustration flaring in her chest. 

_Surely she doesn’t suffer short term memory loss,_ Hermione thought somewhat sarcastically. _She seemed to know who I was when I told her about the owl...unless…_

Hermione jumped to the side and watched the woman rummage in boxes in the storeroom behind the counter. Her back was to Hermione, her wide, robe-covered bottom jiggling as she bent lower over a small box resting on a wooden stool. 

Slowly, robotically, the woman stood straight again and turned to face Hermione. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a monotone. “I don’t have what you are looking for.” 

“I owled you less than an hour ago!” Hermione narrowed her eyes and took a half a step backwards. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“Yes.” 

Hermione paused for just a fraction of a second before she nodded and turned on her heel. Something was definitely off, and if she had to guess, she would say that the old woman had been placed under the Imperius curse. 

Morally, she warred with herself as her hand enclosed around the cool metal doorknob. The woman was obviously in danger, but if someone was snooping around it could jeopardise Draco’s safety. Swallowing a frustrated growl, Hermione wrenched the door towards her and slipped into the night, apparating directly from the shopfront. 

“Malfoy!” she called as she appeared in the lounge room. 

“You rang?” He appeared in the hallway, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. 

“I couldn’t get your potion.” 

“Oh.” Draco pushed himself off of the wall and frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She sighed, unclasping her cloak and collapsing onto the couch. “I think the apothecary witch was under the Imperius curse.”

“Did you see anyone else in the Alley?” Draco demanded. 

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, thrown by his sudden question. “Yes, actually,” she answered. “Your father.”

“My - my father?” 

“Yes, I ran in to him before I got to the apothecary.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked me what I was doing -”

“Fuck!” 

“Excuse me?” 

Malfoy stormed into the room, his hands clutching his head. He closed his eyes and managed to maneuver himself down the passage between the couch and coffee table, turning sharply after exactly three sides in each direction. 

Hermione tucked her legs up so as not to trip him as she watched; twist and walk, twist and walk. She was beginning to think she should have stayed and demanded the wolfsbane, or confronted Lucius, or - 

“Okay.” He stopped pacing and slumped into the space next to her; their shoulders were now touching and Hermione was hyper-aware of the heat from his skin radiating through the sleeve of her shirt. “Tell me everything.”

“There really isn’t much more -”

“ _Everything,_ ” he repeated.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, but ran through her visit to Knockturn Alley and her interactions with both Lucius and the apothecary witch. 

Malfoy was silent when she had finished and she watched him as he stared straight ahead, mulling over her words. 

“It had to be him,” he said finally, breaking the silence like a cricket ball through a window. “If he has the slightest inkling that you’re trying to help me -”

“How would he string that together?” Hermione scoffed. “I’m the liaison for werewolf welfare; I could be testing a new brew, or picking up supplies for a Camp.” Malfoy wrinkled his nose but did not respond. “In all honesty, I’m more concerned about not having Wolfsbane on hand.”

“I told you I’ll leave.”

“And I told you that I won’t allow it.” She moved her head infinitesimally to the left and caught his eye. He opened his mouth to argue but a lightbulb had gone off in Hermione’s brain. “That’s it!” she cried, leaping to her feet. 

“What’s it?” 

“The Ministry stores! I’ll just steal enough for one week’s worth of Wolfsbane!” 

“You’re insane.” 

“I’d be more insane if I let a werewolf go without Wolfsbane the week before their transformation while they’re a guest in my home.”

Malfoy began to protest, an almost feral growl rumbling within his chest as frustration bubbled over, but Hermione simply held up a hand and repeated that it would be irresponsible of her not to at least _try_ to borrow some of the potion from the Ministry. 

“Borrow,” Malfoy muttered under his breath, but Hermione heard him as she turned on her heel and left the room. 

_Yes, Malfoy,_ she thought with a smirk. _Borrow._

**Tuesday, 4th May 2004**

Hermione would not describe herself as a rule breaker. In fact, technically, in this circumstance, she hadn’t actually broken any rules. There wasn’t a sign above the Ministry potion stores that read “Caution: For Authorised Personnel Only”, and there was no clearance system either. 

Therefore, when she had returned home with enough Wolfsbane to keep Malfoy going for at least three months, she shot down everyone of his misgivings and snide taunts with a superior look and a sigh of derision; he soon stopped trying to goad her into kicking him out of her house. 

However, as was the norm between two such strong willed individuals, it did not take long for them to come up with another topic for contention. Hermione, having become quite accustomed to Malfoy’s presence - though he was more often ‘Draco’ in her thoughts now, something she refused to acknowledge - and even enjoyed the time they spent together in the evenings. And so, on the evening of his transformation, she made it known that - in no uncertain terms - she would be staying with him for the duration of his change.

“Stay with me? You want to _stay with me_ while I turn into a _beast_?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hermione jutted her chin and folded her arms in her lap, preparing for a fight. 

“It’s a total Lunar eclipse!” he shouted, throwing his arms wide. “Who knows what might happen!”

“I’ve done the research,” Hermione said calmly. “There is no link between the eclipse and werewolf transformations; it will be the same as every other time.”

“Every other time I’ve turned into a crazed monster hellbent on finding food,” he growled, his eyes narrowed into slits. “This is the first time I’ve taken Wolfsbane, Granger, so forgive me if I’m not exactly sure what to expect here.”

“You can expect that I’ll be here with you through it all.” She made a stiff movement, as if she wanted to go to him but then thought better of it. “Whatever happens, I’ll help.” 

For a long time he was silent, but then he dropped his gaze and murmured, “You don’t need to stay with me.”

Hermione fought the urge to reach for him. “I know,” she said. “I want to.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” he retorted, his voice hard and determined.

“I’d really rather you accept that I’m going to do what I want, regardless of what you say.” 

His mouth twitched at that, an infinitesimal movement that Hermione only just caught. She fought her own smirk as he fell silent, settling himself on the floor of the spare bedroom. Turning slowly, she locked the door behind her before mimicking his movements. 

“If I didn’t know any better,” he drawled, his head lolling back against the wall, “I’d say you were trying to seduce me; you don’t have one of those weird lycanthropy fetishes, do you?” 

Hermione snorted indignantly. “If I did, Malfoy, I still wouldn’t be into _you_.” She tried - and failed - to ignore the way her heart sped up at these words. 

He was silent for a few moments, before he turned to look at her. “In all seriousness,” he said, “you’ll need to move away a little before my transformation; I’m not an occamy.” 

Hermione tried to focus on his attempt at humour, but as she shuffled away from him she couldn’t help but feel that maybe he just wanted to put some distance between them. Had she been too obvious before, when she’d said she wouldn’t be interested in him? _Was_ she interested in him? 

Her head spun as she continued to slide her bottom across the carpet, putting a couple of metres between her and Malfoy. She rested against the adjacent wall, across from the bed. From here she had a good view of his profile, and she watched, mesmerised, by the truly relaxed expression on his face. Deciding that silence was probably better than speaking at this point, Hermione drew her knees up to her chin and waited. 

Forty-five minutes later, Malfoy broke the silence, panting as he spoke. “Granger?” he rasped. “It’s happening.” 

Hermione could make out the pain etched on his face as his features contorted, but she was grateful for the verbal warning anyway. Part of her wanted to look away; she felt that this was a private moment she was encroaching on, as if he were undressing in front of her rather than transforming into a beast. The stronger part of her, however, was struck with complete fascination as Malfoy’s features distorted and he all but vibrated off of the floor. 

His face elongated first, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as a snout sprouted. His limbs followed, lengthening and shortening until he was forced onto all fours. Claws were the last to spring from large, padded paws as Malfoy fell still and Hermione released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

He was beautiful. 

There was no other way to describe the wolf in front of her. He was decidedly larger than a regular wolf, with pale white fur that looked almost clear beneath the slivers of moonlight streaming through the window. His eyes were the slate grey Hermione knew as human Draco’s, and as he cocked his head to the side, as if appraising her, Hermione could have sworn he was challenging her in the way only a Malfoy could. 

“Shut up.” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know you’re pretty.” 

He growled, though Hermione was sure it was meant as a wolfish laughter rather than a sound of warning. She sat once more, her eyes still trained on the wolf. As she settled, she patted the floor beside her. His indecision was obvious, but she was insistent and so finally, with a sound of frustration, Malfoy made his way over to her. 

Between the dresser and the corner of the bedroom there wasn’t a lot of room, especially with Malfoy in wolf form. Hermione didn’t mind being pressed up against him, though. 

 

**Thursday, 6th May 2004**

Draco woke as he usually did the first morning after a transformation; aching and starving. He squeezed his eyes shut against the flu-like feeling of having put one’s body under immense strain, despite the fact he had done little more than sleep for the past forty-eight hours. That was when he realised that there was something decidedly different about this post-transformation morning; a heavy weight was laying across his chest, and from the point of pressure, in the centre of his ribcage, the usual aches and pains were slowly dissipating. 

He blinked slowly, customising his sensitive eyes to the pink-tinged daylight. The first thing he noticed as his eyes adjusted was a cloud of brown, curly hair. The second thing he was aware of was the cute little noises coming from the sleeping form, and the timely puffs of air on his bare chest. 

“Granger?” he tried, his voice hoarse but still audible. “Granger?” 

“Hmm?” 

Something in his chest clenched and Draco had to work incredibly hard to keep his thoughts in the present moment; he was aware that he was completely naked, after all. 

He shifted slightly, so that she would be able to maneuver off of him without too much difficulty, but this movement seemed to startle Hermione from her slumber. In what could only be described as a poorly executed war-time reflex, she jumped on to the flats of her feet in a crouching position before pistoning upwards in attempt to stand. 

She would have succeeded, too, had it not been for Malfoy’s head getting in the way. 

“Ow!” he moaned, clutching his forehead. “Sweet Circe, Granger, what the hell?” 

“Oh Merlin! I’m so sorry!” she squeaked, her fingers shaking as they covered her mouth. “Let me get a pain potion!”

“Granger,” he ground out. “Stop. Shouting.” 

Without a word, she scrambled from the room and flung herself out of the door. She returned moments later, her arms ladened with vials and jugs with a kaleidoscope of coloured liquids swishing within them. 

“Hold still,” she ordered, uncorking a vial and dropping to her knees. She crawled towards him and settled next to his lap. Draco fought a groan as he physically began to react to her, praying to any and all deities who might listen that he wouldn’t get a boner while she administered the potion. “Are you okay?” She sat back, having forced the liquid down his throat. “You don’t look so good...Draco?” Bringing both her hands up to cup his face, she watched as his pupils dilated and his breathing shallowed to the point of near-hyperventilation. 

_Holy shit, did she just call me_ Draco? _Think of Umbridge,_ he thought desperately as heat radiated throughout his body. _Think of McGonagall...why is she still touching me?_

“How many fingers am I holding up?” she demanded, before she began to click in front of his face. 

“You need to hold them still for that to work,” he snapped, more intense than he intended. She froze and he allowed an easy grin to spread across his face. “One,” he said with a false sense of pride, “your middle finger, to be exact. That’s not polite, Hermione.” He enunciated her name with a caress of his tongue, and marvelled the effect it had on the witch in front of him. 

Slowly, she lowered her hand, which had been held in a rude gesture, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink shade. 

“Well I,” she stammered. “I mean, that…” 

Draco lifted his hand slowly and began to click in front of her face. “Are you okay?” He was about to move his hand to cup her cheek, and then...well, he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter because at that moment they were interrupted by the post owl. 

The plain tawny owl did not stop as it swooped in through the window, dropped the rolled up newspaper into Hermione’s lap, looped around the room, and then exited the same way it had entered. With her faculties back in order, Hermione shuffled backwards and untied the paper, pressing it flat on to the floor with her hand. She gasped as she read the headline. 

_**Lunar Eclipse Massacre: Camp security to increase as hunt continues for rogue Werewolf** _

She read it outloud, using her finger to anchor her sight to the words, as if she could not focus on them otherwise. Malfoy moved to read over her shoulder as she began to skim the article. 

“Seventeen attacked...nine confirmed dead...three in Saint Mungo’s...two missing...Camps to be reinforced with new and improved wards... _kill or capture strategy now imposed…_ ” Hermione trailed off, her hands now clutching the paper in shaking fists.

She turned to face Malfoy, who was sitting like a marble statue, his pale face blank except for his eyes which swirled with unbridled fear. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice tight with barely concealed rage. “The lunar eclipse has absolutely no effect on werewolves; it makes no difference in terms of savageness, or transformation, or -”

“I need to leave.” He cut her off, rising to his feet. He was still naked, which put Hermione’s gaze level with a very intimate part of his anatomy, but there was no time to relish in the sight, or recoil in embarrassment.

“You can’t go,” she argued, standing as well. 

He summoned his clothes and began to dress. “I can,” he growled, “and I will.” He paused as he buttoned his trousers, looking down at Hermione from beneath his mussed bangs. “If they find me here, it’ll be worse for both of us.”

“If you leave here they’ll catch you, and kill you!” She snatched the shirt from his hands as he moved to place it over his head. “Besides, if they find out you were here, they’ll assume you left out of guilt. Just give me a couple of days to work something out. I’m going to have to go in to work and assess the damage.” She paused, watching his face, which was now completely closed off to all emotions. He held out his hand for the shirt, and Hermione hesitated. “Promise me you’ll still be here when I get back.” 

His shoulders slumped slightly and Hermione bit her lip, watching him ponder. “Fine,” he said finally, gripping his shirt and tugging it towards him. The material slipped from Hermione’s fingers but she hardly noticed, her focus instead on the fact that he hadn’t actually promised. 

_Don’t beg him,_ she told herself. _It’s not as if he has any loyalty to you…_

“Okay, well…” She felt awkward now, as if by asking him to be here when she returned from work had somehow shifted the dynamic they had carefully crafted over the past month. “I’ll see you later?” 

Draco offered her only a stiff nod in response. He stayed standing in the room, his gaze locked on the spot they had curled up in the night before, his arms folded like a vice across his chest. Hermione only stayed a second longer, committing the image of him to memory - though she did not want to dwell on why she felt the need to - before she slipped out of the doorway and hurried to her own bedroom to get dressed.

* * *

Her day was long, exhausting, and a whirlwind of meetings in which ignorant buffoons spoke passionately about the kill or capture strategy, though she noted that there was a much stronger emphasis on the _kill_ part of the plan. She was keen to return home to see Draco; she had been checking her coin every fifteen minutes, but it remained cool to touch. The knot that had started off the size of a penny in her stomach was now at boulder status, and she hoped with every fibre of her being that her gut feeling was wrong, and that Draco would be there to greet her when she Floo’d home. 

It was close to nine o’clock when Hermione was finally released from the last meeting. Not much had transpired in all the hours she had been cooped up with the idiots from the Beast Division - nothing that would actually help, anyway. They had increased security, as promised, and were working towards building impenetrable walls and gates around the Camps to secure them further. New legislation had been drafted and was expected to be fast tracked and passed through the Wizengamot, initiated and presented by none other than Lucius Malfoy himself. 

Hermione wondered if he was skilled at Legilimency as his eyes flickered to her face every few seconds throughout his presentation. Was he trying to catch her off guard? Did he have suspicions about where his son was hiding? Hermione’s stomach clenched as he snapped his file closed and dismissed the meeting. 

Without saying goodbye, Hermione hurried from the board room and headed straight towards the Atrium. She Floo’d home, almost exiting three grates early in her hurry to return to her apartment. When she stepped out of her fireplace, the house was dark, void of all light and sound. 

“Malfoy?” she called, dusting the soot off the front of her robes. “Hello?” 

She continued further into the house, using her wand to turn on the lights as she entered each room. A shiver ran from the base of her spine, up towards her neck and she pulled her robes closer around her as she entered the spare room. Expecting to find it empty, she screamed as she turned the light on, throwing the figure sitting in the chair by the window into sharp relief. 

“Draco!” she choked, flinging her wand down on to the bed spread and storming over to him. “What the hell are you -?” 

“I agreed to be here when you got home,” he answered, still staring out of the window. 

“Why are you -? Merlin!” Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth as she took in the sight of him. His hair was plastered to his head; he was completely soaked through. Blood combined with the raindrops still trailing from his temple towards his chin, and his left eye was ringed with a nasty shade of yellow-green. She was reminded with an awful pang in her gut, of the night he had first arrived on her doorstep.

“What happened?” Hermione demanded in the same breath she summoned her healing kit. 

He sighed, but began to speak as she tended to his wounds. “I agreed to be here when you returned,” he repeated, “but I didn’t promise not to leave at all. I went out as soon as you’d left this morning. I travelled to the closest Camp; I have a friend in there...well, -” he shrugged, disrupting the vial of Dittany Hermione was holding “- he _was_ a friend.” 

“For what purpose?” Hermione admonished, siphoning the spilled potion from the drenched material of his shirt. 

Hermione pulled back, waiting for him to canswer. She was kneeling between his legs, only inches from his face, assessing the bruise around his eye; he had obviously been punched by a rather large fist. His breath was leaving him in short bursts, and as Hermione reached towards her bag for the bruise removal paste, he caught her hand and forced her to look back at him. 

She had just enough time to catch the determined, yet somewhat feral look in his eye before he closed the gap between them, his lips slanting across hers with a heat and hunger she would not have thought it possible to possess. For the first few seconds, she remained frozen, completely caught off guard...but then he shifted, leaning forward so that he could grasp her shoulders in his surprisingly warm hands, tugging her into him. Instinct took over then, and Hermione melted against his chest, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt, ignoring the way the rain water dribbled through her clenched fingers. She kissed him back with fervour, pouring every ounce of fear and frustration she had been holding all day into it. Tongues began to dance, and had it not been for a severe lack of oxygen, Hermione was sure the passionate kiss would have turned into more. 

“What was that?” she panted as they pulled apart. 

“It was a kiss,” he said, his voice like gravel. “I saw an opportunity and took it.” He rested his forehead against hers and softened his tone slightly. “I have no idea what is about to happen, and I’ve wanted to kiss you since you made me pancakes, so…” 

He let the implication hang there and Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to focus on just one thought as they paraded through her mind at breakneck speed. Part of her wanted to shake him, she decided, and another wanted to kiss him again...her gaze flickered back down to his lips and she realised her hands were still twisted in his shirt; she let go as if it had burned her and he chuckled low in his throat. 

“Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to take such an opportunity,” he said softly. He let his hands drop from her arms and leaned back in his chair, attempting to put as much distance between them as possible. 

Hermione nodded vigorously and reached once more for the paste, forcing her whirring mind to concentrate on the task at hand - mending Malfoy. “You were talking about a friend?” 

“Yes.” Draco cleared his throat and obediently closed his eyes as Hermione motioned for him to do so, poised with the paste in her hands. “He’s been giving me information from the inside, and I promised to help him get out in return.” He jumped slightly as the cool paste touched his skin. “He said that there had been confirmed sightings of a werewolf with similar markings to mine - white fur with blood all over its muzzle.”

Hermione frowned. “Is that why he attacked you? He believes the rumours?” 

“He didn’t attack me,” Draco bit out, his voice hard. “We were interrupted by Guards. They tried to capture me, but my presence had caused quite a stir within the Camp and they had to turn their attention to the twenty-plus werewolves collectively trying to escape; it was quite a riot.” 

He sounded almost proud, Hermione noted as she twisted the lid back on the jar and placed it back in her healing kit. She remained silent as she stood, indicating for him to do the same as he continued his recount. He stood shakily, placing one hand on the wall to steady himself. 

“I was roughed up a bit by a particularly aggressive Guard, but eventually he had to leave me to help contain the masses inside - you know,” he huffed, “it’s really hard to concentrate when you’re _undressing me,_ Granger.” 

Hermione bit down on a smirk as she continued unbuttoning his shirt and then slid it from his shoulders. “You’re soaked through,” she stated. “After all the effort I’ve gone to in order to keep you alive, I refuse to have you die from hypothermia.” 

“So cast a warming spell,” he growled. “I’ll be fine, just get your hands off of me.” 

Hermione froze, finger tips grazing his forearms as the shirt fell to the floor, but then obediently stepped back. She glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes, confusion reflected in her brown orbs. His breath left him in a forceful exhale. 

Running one hand through his wet tresses, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling before allowing them to settle back on her form. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “You touching me is a little more than I can handle right now.” 

“Oh.” Hermione blinked, unsure of what she was meant to do with her hands now. 

“Granger -” he indicated the front of his pants with a downward shift of his eyes “- I mean it’s a bit _difficult_ for me to concentrate with your hands running all over me.” His expression darkened considerably as he spoke and Hermione’s eyes widened as she finally understood. 

“Oh!” she repeated. “Right. Sorry.” 

He chuckled as her cheeks flushed. “Use your wand,” he ordered.

“You mean this wand?” A new voice came from her left and both Hermione and Draco whipped around, coming face to face with Lucius Malfoy. He was sitting on the far corner of the bed, twirling Hermione’s wand in his hand. “Seems rather careless of you to leave it unattended, Miss Granger.” 

The blond man stood slowly, his palms up and facing towards Hermione, as if he expected her to hex him without a second thought. As her brain processed the sight before her, Hermione considered it. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering how I got in,” he said. 

Draco growled low in his throat and Hermione instinctively reached for his hand. He laced his fingers through hers and tugged her so that she staggered forward, now effectively hidden behind his broad back. 

“What do you want?”

Lucius’ eyes flickered for a fraction of a second. “You, son. You’re wanted across the entire continent. I’m sorry that your... _affliction_...has turned you into a brutal beast with a taste for innocent humans, like Miss Granger here.” He nodded towards Hermione who was peeking out from behind Draco. “I understand it’s been a trying time, but you can’t just go around _killing_ people.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to cut through the air like knives. 

“I haven’t killed anybody,” Draco growled. 

“That’s not what several eyewitnesses are saying.” Lucius simpered. “Come with me and they won’t kill you, Draco.”

“Bullshit!” He spat. 

“He hasn't hurt anyone!” Hermione felt her chest restrict painfully and she clutched a hand over her breastbone to ease it. “You’ve got the wrong wolf!” 

Lucius’ answering smile was sardonic as he prowled towards them. “No, I don’t,” he said. “Come, Draco.” He stretched a hand forward and gestured with a crooked finger. “We can negotiate with the Ministry and maybe get you life in Azkaban instead of -”

“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?” Draco spat. “Off we go then.” Sarcasm laced every word, and he remained stock still as Lucius lowered his hand. 

“No!” Hermione struggled to pass Draco, but he was too strong. 

“I won’t be going anywhere; calm down, Hermione.” Her first name on his lips settled her somewhat, but she placed a hand in the middle of his back just to centre herself. 

“You must,” Lucius repeated. “The attacks will stop if you come quietly. If you don’t…” he trailed off with a half-hearted shrug which looked completely out of place on the usually well-put-together Malfoy patriarch. 

_Wait,_ Hermione startled, her body freezing in place as realisation trickled over her. _What does he mean ‘the attacks will stop if you come quietly’? How can he possibly know -? Unless…_

With all the mental force she could muster, she projected her thoughts beyond herself and willed Draco to recognise her attempt at telepathically communicating with him. She had briefly studied occlumency and legilimency as part of Ministry training, but she would not call herself proficient, and it was not long before the strain of the exercise caused a dull ache to radiate from the base of her skull. 

_Draco_ , she thought desperately, _please hear me._

 _I can hear you, Granger._ His thoughts suddenly melded with hers and Hermione fought the urge to collapse against the force of it. _What is it?_

_Your father is the wolf!_

_What? How do you -?_

“Using legilimency to discuss your options? I thought I taught you better than that, Draco.” Lucius tutted. 

Draco ignored him, waiting instead for Hermione’s reply. 

_Check his fingernails._

He did, and only just managed to stop himself from recoiling at the sight. It was not something he would have noticed normally; Draco was more of an eye-contact guy himself, but there was no mistaking the dark, burgundy crescents that shaped the tips of his father’s fingernails; human flesh. 

“Father,” Draco began in a cordial tone. Hermione slumped gratefully against the wall behind her, her hand slipping from his back. “How is it that you can guarantee the attacks will stop if I come with you?” 

Lucius rolled his eyes, but Draco caught the brief flash of uncertainty within the grey irises. “Because you will be locked up, of course. You won’t be able to hurt anyone in Azkaban.” 

“Ah.” Draco nodded sagely, as if this suddenly cleared up a lot of confusion. “Except, you know I’m not the wolf responsible for the attacks.”

“What are you talking about?” Lucius was visibly frustrated now, his hands fisted by his side and beads of sweat forming at his hairline. 

“You’re the wolf, aren’t you?” Draco didn’t need to add the question at the end, but despite everything, there was some part of him that hoped his father would deny it. There was a moment of tense silence as Lucius set his jaw, looking from Hermione to Draco. “When?” Draco spat. “How?” 

Lucius lifted his chin and appraised his son as if weighing up his options before responding. “Just after the war,” he said in a strangled whisper. “Fenrir was upset that the Dark Lord was vanquished; he blamed me, and I paid for it.” His eyes glowed suddenly, the slate grey that matched his sons turning a pale yellow. “But I never wavered in my loyalty to my Lord, and I did not deserve to be punished, so I went after him and I killed him.” Hermione recoiled slightly at the brash honesty in his voice, the lack of empathy evident in every word. “I must restore the Malfoy name, and to do that, I had to take out the weak link - you, son.” He smiled, barring perfectly white teeth, though Hermione noted that his canines had been chipped slightly on both sides. “Which is why I’ll be taking you with me to the Ministry tonight.” 

“I don’t think so.” Draco shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. 

“Don’t be a fool,” Lucius growled, his eyes narrowed into slits. 

“This may be the least foolish thing I’ve ever done,” Draco shot back, his hand plunging into his jeans and pointing his wand at Lucius. 

Wordlessly, Draco shot a red ball of light towards Lucius, but the elder Malfoy was too quick, casting a _Protego_ before the spell could meet its mark. Draco tried again, but Lucius ducked, rolling forward along the carpet, so that the spell bounced off the wall, shattering a photo of Hermione, Harry, and Ron from third year. 

She was barely lucid enough to understand what was going on, but was aware of the photo shattering and her finger tips covering her mouth as a retaliation shot left her wand, controlled by Lucius, and narrowly missed Draco’s left shoulder. 

Roughly, he pushed her to the ground while simultaneously blocking another curse, this one a purple jet of light which crackled as Draco shielded it. A growl ripped from his throat as his movements intensified. From her place on the floor, Hermione watched as light bloomed above her, his sinewy muscles stretching and contracting as his wand arm danced through the air. 

It was neck and neck, as far as she could tell, until Lucius managed a hit to Draco’s chest with a simple _Stupefy!_ Hermione crawled towards him as soon as the thud resonated through the room, the crumpled form of Malfoy eerily still and silent. 

“No!” She choked, placing her hands on either one of his shoulders. 

“Step aside, Miss Granger.” Lucius was looming over them, Hermione’s wand pointed at Draco’s vacant expression. “Out of the way!” 

He reached for her with the intent of shoving her from Draco’s form, but in his moment of distraction, Hermione had seized Draco’s wand and used it to disarm his father. 

“You bitch!” he roared, lunging to reclaim the wand. 

With practiced finesse, Hermione used a non-verbal spell to bind Lucius with rope and forced him to sit on the end of the bed. Her heart thudded against her chest as she glanced down at Draco who was knocked unconscious, but she knew she had to tend to the evil bastard currently warring with his ties first. 

In minutes, Harry and a team of Aurors had arrived and wasted no time in carting the senior Malfoy off for questioning. 

“Well done, Hermione,” he said as they watched the thrashing form of Draco’s father leave the room, flanked by three Aurors. 

“Thanks, Harry.” She wiped her hand across her brow, exhaustion now hitting her in full force. “I don’t know what I would have done if -”

“Is that _Draco Malfoy_?” Harry had turned and noticed the blond still passed out on the floor. 

“Um -” 

“Potter?” As if his voice had stirred Malfoy from his slumber, Draco blinked his eyes open and squinted against the harsh over head light. 

“Merlin’s beard!” Harry gawked, his jaw slack as he moved closer. “What is going on?” 

“He’s been staying with me,” Hermione explained with a sigh. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, Harry.” She touched his elbow gently and he started forcefully. “For now, I think we all need some sleep.”

Her friend nodded, but shot her a look that clearly said that he expected all of the details - the gory and the mundane - first thing tomorrow. She nodded without looking at him and listened for the click of the door which signalled that he had left to follow his team back to the Ministry. 

 

**Friday, 7th May 2004**

Draco was first aware of light causing red and yellow patterns to dance across his closed eyelids the next morning, followed by a shooting pain in the back of his skull. He winced as he moved a hand to rub his neck, but found himself unable to do so as a heavy weight was pressing down on his chest. Opening one eye blearily, he came face to face with the wild bush Hermione Granger called _hair_ and inwardly groaned as the memories from last night began to flood his mind in an incoherent frenzy. 

_My father,_ he thought bitterly. _If I had known he was the wolf I would have -_

He was forced to cut the idea short as his right arm tightened instinctively around Hermione’s peaceful form, rousing the witch from slumber.

“S’matter?” she asked, blinking slowly as daylight assaulted her eyes.

Draco remained silent. He was wary of her reaction; this could go a number of ways, many of which would end with him sporting a black eye or broken limbs. Sure, she had slept with him during his transformations, but this was different. His father hadn’t just been revealed as the manic werewolf who had been terrorising England for the last few months, and...he couldn't _quite_ put his finger on it but this time just...felt different.

“Draco?” she mumbled, forcing herself into a sitting position so she could peer down at him through heavily lidded eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” he whispered, moving slowly to sit up facing her. He winced as his head pounded, but ignored the sensation in favour of lifting his hand to cup Hermione’s cheek. “How are you?” 

“I’m fine,” she echoed. 

“Good.” He nodded, his hand slipping to rest back in his lap. “Last night was…”

“Crazy,” Hermione agreed, her lips curving into a smile. “But it’s over now. We’ve caught the werewolf responsible and now I can push the legislation to have the Camps abolished; Kingsley will be pleased -”

Draco silenced her by leaning forward and capturing her lips with his own in a searing kiss. He knew that once she was on a roll like this there was no stopping it, but he needed her to just be here with him before running off and saving the Wizarding world once again. 

He meant to pull back; he did. The kiss was supposed to shut her up and refocus her mind on _them_ \- the here and now. But just as he was about to slow it down, Hermione threaded her hands into his hair and held him to her. He was lost in her as the kiss deepened and he placed his hands on her waist, tugging her into his lap. She broke the kiss long enough to groan at the sudden hard length resting against her thigh, but then their tongues were dancing again and Draco was swallowing her moans as her hips rocked against him. 

Unsure of how long he would be able to last in such a predicament, Draco stood swiftly, Hermione still in his arms. She grinned against his lips as he staggered towards the bed; with one last peck, he deposited her on the mattress and stared down at her, his gaze roaming over her, hungry and lustful. 

“You’re beautiful,” were his last coherent words to her before he bent forward, divesting her of her shirt and brassiere. 

He peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses down her exposed neck and towards her decolletage. Hermione smoothed her palms over his chest towards his shoulders, digging her nails into the flesh there. He bit back a groan at the sensation of her tugging him towards her, but obediently hovered over her as his fingers began to work the front of her trousers. 

Wiggling her hips, she helped him tug the garment down her legs, sitting up slightly on her elbows. He bit his lip as her creamy flesh was revealed and wondered how it came to be that _he_ was the lucky bastard who got to undress Hermione Granger, and marvel in her beauty. 

His train of thought continued as she hooked her thumb into the waistband of her panties - light blue lacy briefs he certainly would not have expected from the down-to-Earth witch - and tugged them down to her ankles before tossing them carelessly to the floor. 

She now lay completely naked in front of him, her cheeks and chest tinged a beautiful dusty pink as she inhaled with shallow bursts. A small smile curved at the corners of her mouth and her eyes were hooded as she watched him, her hands tangling in her hair. Such a sight he had never seen before, and was sure he would never see again. 

With a growl, he covered her with his body and attacked her mouth once more, intent on proving that he deserved at least a chance with someone as wonderful, and as _sexy_ as she was.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of an anonymous fest. Reveals of authors and artists will be posted on 1st of November. Follow us on [TUMBLR](https://hp-creatures.tumblr.com/).


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